THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE
Photograph by Maynard Owen Williams
WATCHING THE TRAIN GO BY
To this day I cannot recall the tune that
was to haunt me so or drive me mad.
Through the market place, in front of
the medieval Dingstuhl, or town hall, the
procession made its way between catch
penny carnival stands and high "rubber
neck wagons."
The windows were full
of wealthy visitors who had rented re
served seats above the din and dust of
the crowd.
Into the vast grounds of the old cathe
dral this motley procession danced, and
on into the polychrome interior of the
former abbey church, in which French
revolutionaries once stabled their horses
and a potter had his ovens.
GAY SCENES AFTER THE CEREMONY
Three hours of dance, noise, pomp, and
perspiration were over. In the market
place, giant swings began to bob back and
forth. A merry-go-round, run by a boy
power treadmill whose mystery was only
partly preserved by a scarlet valance, was
busy. The cafes held overflow meetings
in the square.
A man with a magic knitting needle,
which made horrible cerise flowers, big
as cabbages, blossom on an honest square
of rough crash, was charming money
away from country women, whose knotted
fingers he tenderly directed in an attempt
to prove that anyone could work the same
monstrous miracle.
Crackers and candy were selling fast.
Balloons and squawkers were "quieting"
tired children. Boys sucked sweet sirups
out of tiny bottles through glass "straws."
A visitor from the Mondorf baths
rushed by.
"How'djyu come out? I got
some wonderful stuff. We had the best
window in town. Great show, wasn't it?
Well, see you later. Must get back for
lunch. Old bus is tuning up now.
Cheerio!" And his telegraphic diction
was swallowed in the crowd.
When twilight came I wandered around
the town alone. In the cathedral, country
folk were still streaming past the Carrara
marble casket, whose whiteness seems so
brilliant in this highly colored interior
dotted with yellow spirit flames. Each
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